


Carry Moonbeams Home In A Jar

by seimaisin



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-02
Updated: 2008-12-02
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:49:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seimaisin/pseuds/seimaisin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Spencer was fifteen the first time he saw the shooting star.</i> Your basic "aliens made them do it" fic. Of course.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Carry Moonbeams Home In A Jar

Spencer was fifteen the first time he saw the shooting star. Not that he hadn’t seen shooting stars before – his parents’ best friends had a cabin out of town, and he and his dad used to lie out on the deck and find constellations – but this one was different. For one, it was bright purple, and Spencer was pretty sure that stars weren’t supposed to look purple from earth. Also, it seemed way close, kind of like a roman candle in reverse. It was quick, no more than a flash of light, really, but Spencer was sitting on the roof outside of his bedroom window (because his mom would eat him for breakfast if she ever smelled smoke inside the house), so he saw it streak to the west of his house. Actually, from where he was sitting, it looked like it was heading straight for Ryan’s house. Impossible, but it reminded him to call Ryan.

He got Ryan’s voice mail. “Hey, were you just looking outside? There was the most awesome shooting star.” Spencer looked to the west; the sky was clear, but he imagined he could still see a purple glow hovering just above the ground. He shook his head and grinned to himself. “Anyway, Mom and Dad took the girls to see _Finding Nemo_ again, I’m here by myself. You should come over.”

He didn’t get a response, but a half hour later he heard a knock on the door. “I’m on the roof, come around back,” he yelled. A minute later, he heard the knock again. “Jesus, asshole, just come back here!” Another knock. “Fine, if you’re going to be a dick about it …” he grumbled, stubbing out his cigarette and climbing back in the window.

When he opened the door, Spencer was greeted with a wide-eyed, vacant stare. Spencer stepped aside, but Ryan didn’t move past him into the house. “Ryan?” Spencer waved his hand in front of Ryan’s face. Ryan didn’t blink. “Ryan?” he repeated, alarm settling into his chest.

Finally, Ryan stepped inside the door. He stopped next to Spencer and leaned over slightly, so that their faces were inches apart. “Spencer.” His voice sounded weird, like he was testing it out to make sure it worked. “Spencer,” he said again, sounding less tentative.

“Ryan? What’s wrong? Did you take something?” Spencer didn’t think so – Ryan was pretty aggressively anti-anything that would make him seem in any way like his dad – but something was definitely wrong. Ryan’s pupils were blown, and the expression on his face was slack, like he’d lost the connection with his brain. He had some new friends at his school that Spencer didn’t know. Maybe he’d been talked into trying something. Spencer reached back and touched his cell phone in his back pocket. Hopefully his mom would have her phone on vibrate in the movie theater; she’d know if Ryan needed to go to the hospital …

“Spencer,” Ryan repeated, this time in a low, sure voice that didn’t sound like him at all. Spencer’s hand froze on his phone. Ryan was still leaning in, staring like he was trying to memorize something on Spencer’s face.

Then, Ryan kissed him.

Ryan was smoother than this. Spencer knew it; he’d seen Ryan kiss girls before. Ryan knew that teeth weren’t supposed to clack together, that noses were supposed to be as out-of-the-way as possible. But, when Ryan’s nose smushed painfully against Spencer’s, Spencer’s automatic reaction was to take Ryan’s face in his hands and position him properly, sliding his tongue into Ryan’s mouth as he did so. The logical part of his brain - which was shrinking with every touch of Ryan's tongue - screamed at him. _“What the fuck are you doing? Ryan’s drugged up and he’s kissing you and this is so completely and utterly wrong!”_ Except that Spencer had been thinking about Ryan recently, when his boxers were bunched at the foot of his bed and his cock in his hand. He’d never admit it out loud, of course, but now Ryan was backing him against the wall and pressing his hips into Spencer’s, and suddenly Spencer couldn't really remember what the right thing to do would be.

Right about when Spencer felt like he was about to explode out of his own body, Ryan broke the kiss and studied Spencer, his face all wide eyes and swollen lips. Spencer's hands were fisted in Ryan’s t-shirt, and he mentally braced himself to push Ryan away. But, then, Ryan pushed him against the wall, and Spencer felt Ryan's erection pressed against his belly. Ryan shifted, and suddenly Spencer's own painfully hard cock met Ryan's too-sharp, too-warm hip. Spencer jerked against him involuntarily; Ryan leaned back towards him, so that his breath was hot on Spencer's face. "He wants," Ryan whispered. His eyes roamed Spencer's face, as if searching for something. Spencer opened his mouth to say something, ask something, anything, but then Ryan's hips started to roll. Spencer's head hit the wall behind him. The sound that came out of his mouth didn't really resemble words at all. Ryan, for his part, remained silent; when Spencer finally tilted his head down to look at him, Ryan's eyes were focused intently on Spencer's face. When their eyes met, Spencer's hips stuttered forward of their own volition, meeting Ryan's movement awkwardly, but successfully. A moment later, Spencer's body spasmed, and suddenly his leg was warm and sticky and his knees weren't doing a very good job of holding him upright. He clutched Ryan for balance. Ryan kept up the rhythm just a few moments more, until he made an odd keening sound and collapsed onto the floor, taking Spencer with him.

Spencer avoiding face-planting into the carpet by catching himself on his elbows. When he looked up, rubbing the carpet burn, Ryan was sitting on the floor, one leg askew, the other tucked underneath him. He was still staring at Spencer. "He wants," he said again, his voice hoarse.

"Who wants what, Ry?" Spencer asked. His voice didn't shake, for which he was unreasonably proud.

Ryan blinked. "He wants." He reached out a finger and touched Spencer's cheek. Spencer had to look away from Ryan's unrelenting stare. When he looked down, though, he saw the rapidly spreading wet spot at the front of Ryan's jeans, which probably felt just as disgusting as his. "Wants," Ryan whispered again.

Spencer pushed himself to his feet. He had to take a moment to steady himself before he grabbed Ryan's arm. "Come on," he said, hauling Ryan up. "You left a pair of jeans in my room. We need to clean up."

He pushed Ryan into the downstairs bathroom before darting up the stairs and shutting himself in the other bathroom. Only then did he let his legs wobble, as he sat down hard on the toilet. "Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck." He ran his hands over his face. He was hot, sticky, still kinda horny, and his best friend was sitting downstairs completely "...fucked up," he muttered. "Completely, totally fucked up."

Spencer cleaned himself up, ran to his bedroom for two pairs of clean jeans - thank god for Ryan's tendency to treat Spencer's bedroom as his own - and ran back down to the other bathroom. Ryan was sitting in the same position Spencer had left him in, nasty jeans and all. Spencer made a face. "You need to clean yourself up, dude. Come on."

"Spencer," Ryan said in a small voice. He rubbed his hands on the sides of his jeans and looked down. "He wants ..."

"Ry, you're scaring me. Who are you talking about?"

"Spencer." Ryan looked back up and stared.

Spencer threw Ryan's clean jeans onto the counter beside him and pulled his phone out of his pocket. "Clean up. I'm calling my mom."

A voice mail later ( _"Please, please come home soon, I think something's wrong with Ryan."_ ), Spencer walked back into the bathroom to see Ryan sitting in the same position. "Ryan!"

"Spencer."

"Fuck." Spencer's hands were shaking, but he put his phone down on the sink and knelt on the floor in front of Ryan. "We have to get you cleaned up," he said, not looking up at Ryan's face. "If Mom sees you like this, she's going to completely freak. I should start the laundry before she gets home, too, so she doesn't notice ..." Ryan touched his hair, which made Spencer shiver, but he pushed the hand off. "Stop it," he said, and he could hear his voice shake. "I'm gonna take your jeans off, okay? And then we're going to put the clean ones on."

 

Ryan was half-hard again when Spencer slid his jeans and boxers down his hips. Spencer tried to look everywhere but at Ryan's cock, but that was difficult, as Ryan ... wasn't exactly small. Spencer closed his eyes briefly - _Algebra tests, lima beans, naked Grandma_ \- before holding the clean jeans to Ryan's feet. "Step in," he ordered. "Sorry, gotta do this commando, my boxers don't fit you, remember?" Ryan didn't help at all, except to raise his hips a few millimeters when Spencer slid a hand under his ass, which allowed Spencer to slide the jeans underneath. He hesitated when he got to the top; Ryan made no move to do anything about his cock, and Spencer wasn't exactly going to shove the zipper closer to anything really sensitive. Finally, Spencer just swallowed and grabbed Ryan gently. Ryan groaned, and Spencer's hips thrust downward towards the bathroom rug without any conscious thought. Spencer looked up. Ryan's eyes were wide, and he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. Spencer couldn't breathe for a moment, but a sound from the front of the house - oh, shit, were they home already? - gave him back just enough of his brain that he was able to tuck Ryan awkwardly into the jeans and zip them up.

Ryan made a small noise in the back of his throat when Spencer stood up and moved to the doorway. No more sounds issued from the front of the house, so Spencer let out the breath he'd been holding. "Will you be okay here for a minute? I'm just ... I gotta put the jeans in the washing machine, okay?"

"Spencer." Ryan's voice was little more than a whisper, which made Spencer's stomach drop, but he didn't look like he was going to fall over and hit his head on the sink or anything, so Spencer grabbed both pairs of jeans and fled to the laundry room.

Just as Spencer turned the washer on, he heard the front door open. He ran upstairs and to the living room, where his sisters pouted and his parents stared at him with concern. Spencer gestured towards the bathroom. "He's ..." He paused, then shook his head. "Something's wrong, I don't know." His mom looked at him sideways when she heard the washing machine, but then she caught a glimpse of Ryan staring blankly at them through the bathroom door, and Spencer was forgotten.

Spencer's mom rushed Ryan out the door and to the hospital, and wouldn't let Spencer come with them. The next morning, she shook her head at him over the breakfast table. "He's fine," she said. "I took him home, told his dad that he should stay home from school today and sleep." The look on her face stopped him from asking any more questions.

Spencer texted Ryan five times from school, but heard nothing.

Spencer was lying on his bed after dinner when he heard the front door open. He heard his dad issue some kind of greeting. A few seconds later, the bedroom door opened. "Hey," Ryan said softly. Spencer looked over at him. He leaned awkwardly in the doorway.

"Hey." Spencer sat up and leaned against his headboard, pulling his knees to his chest. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Ryan gazed intently at a spot on Spencer's bedspread. The circles under his eyes threatened to take over his whole face. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"What the fuck happened?" Spencer asked. "What did you ..."

"Nothing," Ryan interrupted. "It's nothing. I'm just ... I'm sorry. It won't happen again. I promise."

Spencer nodded. When he scooted over, Ryan finally sat down and leaned his head back against the headboard, his eyes closed. Spencer nodded again, even though Ryan couldn't see him. It wouldn't happen again. And if Spencer was just the tiniest bit disappointed, it was only because he was a shitty friend, and he didn't need to admit that to anyone, ever.

***

The second time, Spencer dismissed the shooting star as a drug-induced hallucination. Or, more accurately, Jon did. "I didn't see anything, dude," Jon said, laughing, as he and Spencer sat on the roof. He made a grab for the joint Spencer was holding. "Time to cut you off for the night."

"Seriously, it looked like it was heading straight for us." Spencer waved his hand in the air, mimicking the path he'd seen the purple streak take. "It was wild!"

Jon ignored him, as he was slowly scooting towards the doorway back inside. Spencer frowned, but followed him. Maybe he had imagined it - they were all going a little stir crazy, in their cabin of beauty and comfort and increasingly shitty music, and it wasn't like he'd been sober for at least a full day.

Inside, Jon headed straight for the television, where Brendon was playing Guitar Hero. "Quit that, let me kick your ass at something," Jon whined. As Brendon tried to hit Jon in the head with the guitar controller, Spencer wandered towards the back of the house. "Where's Ryan?" he called back to the den.

"Who knows?" Brendon yelled back. "Outside communing with nature, or some shit like that."

Spencer ended up in his own bedroom, lying sideways on the bed with his hands behind his head. He closed his eyes and listened to Jon and Brendon's voices, indistinct but enthusiastic. Soon, he was far enough over the edge of sleep to imagine the bed was actually a hammock, swaying in a tropical breeze. Maybe, he thought, Brendon's hoots from the other room were really the call of some exotic bird, and maybe the grit he could feel underneath him was sand and not just the remnants of last night's cookies. He was so caught up in the imaginary rocking that he didn't feel the bed actually dip next to him, not until he felt hands splayed on his chest. Spencer opened his eyes. Ryan sat above him, a curious look on his face. "I'm not going out to do yoga in the dark, forget it, I don't care how spiritual it feels," Spencer muttered, and closed his eyes again.

"Spencer."

The tone of Ryan's voice was off, in a vaguely familiar way that brought Spencer immediately back to wakefulness. He opened his eyes and looked up. "What?"

"Spencer." Ryan's brows furrowed, before finally settling in a determined line. He moved before Spencer could react; a moment later, he straddled Spencer's legs. He leaned down until his face was only inches from Spencer's. "He wants," Ryan murmured, placing his palms on either side of Spencer's head.

"He ... what?" Spencer's memory itched, but a drug haze made both his mind and body slow. Or, so he told himself in the brief moment he had to think before Ryan pressed his mouth to his.

It wasn't like he'd _forgotten_ , he'd just decided not to think about that night, about Ryan's wide eyes and warm mouth and the feeling of Ryan's hips and cock grinding against his. It was better that way, he'd always told himself, especially since Ryan had been very obviously determined to pretend it had never happened. In the end, Spencer had figured that Ryan had been talked into doing some kind of drug, maybe acid or ecstasy or something, and it had all gone terribly wrong. Ryan would never have done anything with him if he'd been in his right mind. Because Ryan didn't think about him like that. That was the truth, and Spencer was good at acknowledging the truth. It was one of his virtues, or so he'd been told.

Right now, though, the truth contained something about Ryan's tongue sliding into Spencer's mouth. Spencer groaned and slid a hand underneath the hem of Ryan's t-shirt. His skin was hot, too hot, almost clammy with fever, and that cleared enough fog out of Spencer's head to let him push Ryan away. "What the fuck?" His voice cracked on the last word.

Ryan stared with wide eyes. "Spencer," he said again.

"No way, we're not playing that game again." When Ryan reached for him, Spencer grabbed his hand and held it away from their bodies. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"He wants ..."

"Who wants what, Ry?" Spencer let go of Ryan's hand. He shifted so that he was sitting on his knees, ready to ... defend himself? From getting sexed up by Ryan? Which he kind of dreamed about at least once a week? Yeah, this was fucked up. He shook his head to clear it. "What did you do, what is this?"

Ryan inched forward on his knees. "He wants," he repeated. Suddenly, Spencer saw a shadow pass across Ryan's eyes - purple light, looking a lot like the shooting ... no. Ryan hadn't been possessed by a shooting star. That was stupid. He was still high, Spencer told himself, and searching for an explanation for all of this that wouldn't involve Ryan going to the hospital. Except, he thought, the only two times he'd ever seen that star ... which could mean nothing, he didn't look at the sky all the time, it had probably fallen a dozen times in the last few years - and that was stupid, too, because stars didn't fall more than once, and they weren't even stars, they were meteoroids, Spencer had totally paid attention in his science classes. Spencer blinked and rubbed his eyes, but when he looked again, the purple was still there, clouding brown and white and making Ryan look ... not right. Alien. "Spencer, he wants," Ryan said, his voice a low rumble that Spencer didn't recognize.

"Who are you?" The question escaped Spencer's mouth before he had time to think about it. "You're not Ryan."

Ryan just blinked. "Ryan," he repeated. "Ryan." It sounded like he was testing the sound on his tongue. "Ryan wants."

Spencer swallowed. _Okay_ , he thought, _just go with it_. "What does Ryan want? And ... um, who are you?"

"Ryan wants ..." Ryan lifted a hand and pressed it against Spencer's chest, a spot where sweat had begun to dampen his t-shirt so that it stuck to his skin. "Spencer," Ryan said, and Spencer couldn't tell if it was just the only other word he - it, whatever the purple thing in Ryan's eyes was - knew, or if it was the end of the statement. _Ryan wants Spencer._

Spencer straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. "Okay," Spencer said, grabbing Ryan's wrist and holding it hard enough that he could see his skin turning white underneath his fingers. "I'm going to feel really stupid if you're just having a really bad trip, but ... okay. I don't know who you are, but you're not Ryan. I want Ryan back. Go the fuck away."

The purple cloud filled Ryan's eyes. He looked completely inhuman, like something out of the bad sci-fi movie they'd watched at three in the morning on Tuesday. Spencer felt himself shake, but he didn't let go of Ryan's hand. He just stared into the purple, hoping desperately for a glimpse of Ryan somewhere. After a moment, Ryan's free hand came up to Spencer's face, long fingers brushing against Spencer's slightly open mouth. Spencer held very still, even when one of Ryan's fingertips brushed against his tongue, setting off a chain reaction in Spencer's nerves. He just gripped Ryan's other wrist tighter.

There was a pause, and then all at once a cloud of purple seemed to seep out of Ryan's skin. It rose above his head; for a moment, something inside of it seemed to look at Spencer. And then, it was gone, as if it had never been there. Spencer blinked, and suddenly Ryan collapsed against him, forehead to chest. Spencer let go of his wrist, finally, and wrapped his arms around Ryan's back. Ryan's breath was shallow. "Hey," Spencer said, and then stopped. What could he say?

"Spencer." Ryan's voice was rough, and Spencer's heart dropped briefly before Ryan cursed. "Fuck. You ... um, you saw that?"

"The ... purple thing?" Spencer felt Ryan's head bob a 'yes'. "Yeah. What the fuck?"

"Fuck," Ryan repeated, and pushed himself back into a sitting position. He swayed, and Spencer tugged on Ryan's arm so that he was laying next to Spencer's leg, his cheek resting on a pillow. "It was ... shit, I don't know." Ryan bunched up the pillow underneath his head, and Spencer reached down absently to thread his fingers through Ryan's hair. Ryan looked up with a surprised expression, and Spencer took his hand away. Ryan sighed, and looked back down at the bedspread. "That wasn't the first time."

"I remember."

"Really?"

"Duh. Like I could forget." Ryan glanced up again. Spencer shrugged. "I saw something that night, too. A star, or something, in the sky."

Ryan was silent for a while. Spencer studied an invisible pattern in his jeans. Finally, Ryan spoke. "I ... um, I think it was an alien."

Spencer exhaled. "Yeah." When Ryan looked up again, eyes wide, he just shrugged again. "What? I was there for the whole thing, too, remember?"

"Not the whole thing," Ryan muttered. When Spencer raised an eyebrow, Ryan's face turned pink. "Um. Well. The first time? It ... um, it kinda found me when I was jerking off."

"What? The first time? When you ..."

"Molested you?" Spencer scowled down at him, and Ryan flopped onto his back, putting his hands over his face. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice muffled.

"Shut the fuck up. It was a long time ago, and I'm not exactly scarred or anything." Spencer put his hand in Ryan's hair again. Ryan groaned. "What?"

"Stop touching me," Ryan said. He sat back up. "That's making it worse."

Spencer blinked. "Making what worse?"

"This." Ryan waved his hand in the air. "God. I just ..." He took a deep breath and looked at a spot just over Spencer's shoulder. The next words tumbled out at a speed that made Spencer's head swim. "I was thinking about you, okay? When I was jerking off, I was thinking about you, and that thing, that alien thing came into my head and thought I should be with you, you know, because if thinking about you was making me happy then being with you would make me even happier, right? It was weird, and I didn't know what was happening, but I wasn't in control of myself any more, it was."

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Spencer figured that he should be concerned about the part with the alien controlling Ryan's body. But, the front of his brain was otherwise occupied. "You were thinking about me?"

Ryan finally met Spencer's gaze head-on. He blushed a bright red. "Yeah."

"What about tonight?"

Ryan shrugged. "Well ... maybe. I kinda think about you a lot," he said in another rush. His shoulder's squared, as if he was bracing himself for battle. "I always have."

Spencer laughed. He couldn't help it. Ryan made a move to climb off the bed, but Spencer grabbed his arm. "You moron," Spencer said, holding Ryan in place.

"Fucker, you don't have to be a dick..."

Ryan didn't get a chance to finish his statement, because Spencer leaned over and pressed his mouth to his. This time, the kiss was quick and chaste. When Spencer pulled back, Ryan's eyes were as big as saucers. "Quit staring at me like that," Spencer said.

"You ... really?"

"Yes, really." Spencer let go of Ryan's arm. Ryan remained still. "Maybe I've thought about you, too," Spencer said. "You know, once or twice."

"Once or twice," Ryan repeated. A small smile began to spread across his face.

"Yeah, it's possible." Spencer tugged on the sleeve of Ryan's shirt. "You know, this alien stuff ..."

"Didn't happen. We were tripping," Ryan said. "Right?"

"Yeah," Spencer agreed.

Ryan closed the distance between them and straddled Spencer's hips again. This time, Spencer didn't argue. And, if he opened his eyes a few minutes later to see a purple cloud swirling around Ryan's head, well, the kiss was good enough to make him see stars.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Swing on a Star](https://archiveofourown.org/works/189064) by [dancinbutterfly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dancinbutterfly/pseuds/dancinbutterfly)




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